Juxtaposition
by lyart
Summary: The difference between human and demon. And how the demi-fiend was far too much of the former, from Setanta's eyes. From start to end.


When Setanta first opens his eyes and sees the demi-fiend, he thinks that this demon has to be one of the strongest that he's ever felt. His markings blaze with light and the instinctive side of him thirsts for the magatsuhi that swims within that compact body, for he can feel it—he can _see_ it with that glow the boy gives off.

Those yellow eyes, though—round and with slit pupils, like a nekomata, are something feline and watching. He knows right away that he'll always, _always_ be being watched by this boy, like the attentive cat crouched with tail still and ears perked, ready to slink forward or backward, leap into flight at a second's notice. No, not boy, this _demon_. This powerful Fiend, on par with any of the Riders, or Daisoujou, who in fact flanks one of the demi-fiend's sides.

So Setanta goes to kneel, showing he knows full well whom it is he will be fighting for from now on, that he is merely a servant and would not attempt anything untoward. A long few moments pass where he gazes at ground and ground alone. Not receiving the expected response or even a touch, he looks up and he is surprised to see something distant, sad, _resigned_ in those yellow eyes.

"Ah—" he goes to speak, awkward, wondering if and how his conduct has _already_ displeased his new master in some way.

But whatever lingered in those eyes flees. Now they are expressionless, and the demi-fiend inclines his head slightly to one side, for all the world mild-mannered despite how very powerful Setanta senses him to be. "It's all right not to bow," he says. "Here, get up. We're not going to stay here very much longer."

"O-of course," the demon stammers, gathering himself hastily, spear fisted in one hand. But he watches the demi-fiend, whose eyes are similarly watchful and realises that there is not one part of him that is left unguarded. Not even what is within that head or chest.

* * *

So Setanta believes heartily. They fight on and on, each day. The demi-fiend does not easily tire but, when he does, a trip to see the Lady of the Fountain rejuvenates him. He is powerful and intimidating, and keeps all the demons around him at a kind of distance. He does not sit amongst them—

But it is because he is a leader, Setanta reasons.

Nevertheless, one night Setanta finds himself closing the distance from where the demons sleep and to where the demi-fiend chooses to rest alone, keeping no company but his own. Motion ahead tells him that the demi-fiend is not sleeping at all, and luminous eyes look back, blinking slowly in the shadows of a new Kagutsuchi.

"You're still awake…master," Setanta supplies, some strange atmosphere hanging between them.

He does not know to call it _awkwardness_. The demi-fiend looks away uncomfortably, feeling it more than the other demon does. He sits with his back to Setanta on a broad, flat stone, and his markings pulse gently green in the darkness, the pattern of the throbbing glow mirroring the beat of the heart that surely lays in that chest.

"I don't get a lot of sleep around here," he mumbles. Setanta shuffles his feet, getting an odd sensation, some pressure to keep his distance. Perhaps it's his loner's atmosphere, that sense that he doesn't like to be disturbed. "The sand…" He waves a hand vaguely all around him. Setanta's eyes follow the motion but he doesn't understand. It's as good a place as any to sleep, isn't it?

"Did master wish for my cape?" he asks hopefully, tugging the fabric in question. He'd even give up his precious scarf.

The demi-fiend half-turns, looking at him in a bewildered fashion.

At last, however, "No, I… No, that's all right. Keep it, Setanta." Setanta starts in surprise. He hadn't realised his name was remembered; what with how little the demi-fiend called it. The motion of his has been noticed, to his chagrin, as those catlike eyes seem to gleam. It's an odd, gentle kind of amusement. Then a smile lifts one corner of his mouth. "I don't need to sleep much anyway."

"If master is certain," Setanta answers slowly, wondering to himself now if that smile was an illusion or no. It was gone as fast as it had appeared. Fleeting, like the moments of peace that they receive, the reprieves from fighting. "Is there anything I may do…? Take watch for a little time, perhaps?"

It's not bad to ask the master if he can linger by him, isn't it? The demon watches, curiously.

The demi-fiend turns away so his face and his eyes are no longer visible and shakes his head. "No."

There's something that strikes Setanta about the line of his back, the hunch of his shoulders, the way his neck curves slightly so his faces is downturned. It's almost—

* * *

—_lonely_.

The demi-fiend's back is turned to Setanta once more. He pays the demon no heed, instead staring off at nothing.

No, rather, toward the place the other human had disappeared. Setanta knows little, just that this other boy is striving to create a Reason of some kind.

And that he had been the demi-fiend's friend. Like the man who waits at the terminals, the girl that they once saw.

_Friend_ is a foreign concept in a world of strife and hunger, of instinct and appetites, where the closest one may get is _companion_ or at the very least _ally_. Even then, there is little trust. The weaker follow the strong, and the strong must always become stronger, so that their perches may not be snatched out from under them.

"Master?" Setanta says quietly. The other demons have drifted off, drawn to the magutsuhi that the Amala Network offers, alluring. Setanta can't help but think, though, that the faintly glowing marks of the demi-fiend are far more eye-catching, his posture, and the way his head falls between his shoulders in a way he has seen before. When the name brooks no response, he tries again with a (trembling, nervous), "Demi-fiend?"

That compact frame before him trembles—it's only when he hears the faint, breathy noises he realises its laughter. Quiet, barely-there laughter, somehow bitter and so very, very alone. "Neither of those are my name," he says at last and turns to face Setanta. Once again, he is guarded. His posture has returned to that unyielding, forced confidence one must display when fighting alongside demons. "Didn't you hear Isamu say it?"

"…" Setanta heard it, of course he did, and the strangeness of this powerful demon possessing such a simplistic, gentle name refuses to leave him. "Master—Naoki?"

The catlike eyes blink, and then drift off to one side. "Ah, that'll do," Naoki murmurs with another one of those laughs. Setanta decides all at once he doesn't like to hear them.

* * *

"Master Naoki, do you not wish for me to become stronger?"

Setanta is troubled. Again and again he felt the change gathering in him, but again and again Naoki merely shakes his head. They have lagged behind as the other demons surge ahead, laying waste to those before him. Setanta isn't quite sure why the demi-fiend settles for his company and, even more so, with this matter hanging over him and troubling. But then, perhaps the demi-fiend senses that he is bothered, and that's why he is here.

"What?" Naoki looks puzzled. "Aren't you always getting stronger?" It's apparent he doesn't realise the exact thing Setanta is asking, not yet.

"No, not fighting, but—the change. I cannot change until you allow me, but yet…" Setanta draws a hand up, gloved fingers tugging restlessly at the scarf about concealing the lower half of his face most days. Realisation dawns on the demi-fiend's features, and he turns his face away, staring ahead (presumably) to where the others fight, all animalistic instinct and savagery. Such is their world.

"Why do you want to become stronger, Setanta?"

The question makes Setanta stop and look to the demi-fiend, astonished. What an odd question! Naoki has turned his face to the demon, though, and his expression is unreadable. Save, there's an odd sense of tired expectancy about him.

"To serve the master, of course," Setanta says at last. "And because if one wishes to survive, they must be strong…"

"Kill or be killed," Naoki muses aloud. "Is that it?"

A slow nod.

"Then, why do you want to survive?"

That question.

There's desolation in Naoki's eyes. Setanta feels as though he's seeing the entirety of the Vortex World, the cycle of death and destruction, survival, betrayal, misery and bitter, unending loneliness reflected in them. Even so, his mouth doesn't twitch, nor does he ask anything beside that one question. But his eyes reflect so very, very much. Does he even realise how much that they show?

_He's human._

A startling revelation. One that accompanies an instinctual burst that compels him to move forward, to strike out at what is weaker. Somehow, though, the look of those eyes won't fade, and he fights his instincts out of some odd sense, some odd _feeling_ toward the one before him—master. Naoki.

"I…" He does not have an answer. Setanta survives because he must. Because something in him tells him to keep going and not allow himself to fall. Like the instinct of an animal, which runs from death and fights when terrified. So he says at last, "I don't know."

"Funny." Naoki looks up and away, now. Setanta doesn't know what he's looking at, and almost feels afraid of what he has to be seeing. What sorts of things go on in that human mind, that human _heart_? "Neither do I."

* * *

Setanta has noticed something. He's been watching the master now, since his own conclusion that whom they follow is indeed human, deep down. Even if he doesn't like to show it—and certainly, why would he? To be human is to be weak. The humans were all destroyed effectively by their own kind, and the few that remain are odd amongst their own kind. Setanta does not count the spirits, nor the manikins.

Naoki gives his demons a wide berth more often than not. During battles, certainly, he commands them, remains close to assess how each and every one of them fight. But out of them, he pulls himself away, as though he can't bear to be anything but alone.

Setanta follows him.

Time passes in the Vortex World, slugging on ponderously. Setanta continues to follow the master as they go to Ikebukuro, to the Mantra Headquarters, to where Hikawa stands as though waiting. Setanta, who cannot tear his eyes from Naoki these days, notices what the other may not.

That a minute flinch travels over his shoulders when he refuses the way the world should be ruled from Hikawa's perspective, and he gets called a 'demon'.

Setanta notices the way he grips at his own arm when Hikawa has gone, how they then travel to Mifunashiro. Naoki watches Futomimi with his catlike eyes. There, there is more interest than Setanta has seen from him before and his own eyes narrow and look toward the leader of the manikin. 'Mud dolls' many of the demons think of them all. For it is all they are, creatures made from mud.

_Though, many demons are made by combining one another, so perhaps I cannot say anything_, Setanta amends to himself. He is startled by his own thoughts, his attempt at _understanding_, at _sympathising_ with beings such as those before him. His attention drifts from Naoki to himself and he becomes deeply troubled. He doesn't even notice how the demi-fiend watches him for a time after then, all during the time they journey to Yoyogi park. They face Sakahagi, they restore the fairies to how they used to be.

Then, Setanta forces his thoughts from himself to watch Naoki as he answers Aradia, again and again. Unhesitating, unflinching, refuting any fears that she brings up. Setanta wonders if it is how he really feels, or how he acts just before the demons who follow him. Is he afraid? Nothing in the lines of that face gives him any hints.

* * *

Gozu-Tennoh has died and Naoki sits removed from them once more.

The only difference is that he allows Setanta to silently sit but a few arm-lengths away, legs folded under his body, his posture stiff and upright. He alternates between watching the Vortex World before them and the demi-fiend not far away. Idly, he reflects that still Naoki hasn't allowed him to change, but he cannot bring himself to care. Among the others, he is the only one—besides Daisoujou—who has stayed at Naoki's side this long.

Silence lingers between them. There is an odd kind of anticipation there, and Setanta's gloved hands flex, press against his knees. His spear rests off to the side, out of his immediate reach. He doesn't need it, he tells himself as his instincts claim otherwise. He looks sidelong to Naoki once more, and his stare is returned, a frown lingering on that face.

"Master Naoki?" he asks, breaking their silence. He seems as though he wishes to say something.

"Mmm." Naoki looks away and interlaces his fingers, presses his palms together. Elbows lean gently on his thighs, hands resting between his slightly lifted legs. "Chiaki, today—what did you think of her?" He speaks of his friends again? Setanta wonders. Why does he dwell on them so very much. He doesn't understand. He wishes to.

"She was…" Setanta hesitates, thinks of that transformation, her insane laughter. "She was frightening."

Naoki lowers his head. "Is that so?" then, faintly, "I guess she was. Yeah. She isn't the same person I remember anymore."

Setanta feels a thrill. This is the first time he's spoken so freely. He shuffles closer. "What was she like?" is what he asks, and receives a curious, wide-eyed look. He watches a tongue dart out to wet dry lips, how those lips turn down in a frown. But it isn't disapproving, or upset, rather it's the kind of expression that accompanies thought. Indeed, Naoki is quiet for long moments more, and then he nods to himself.

"She was strict, I suppose you'd say. She was always telling us to do this, or do that, and wouldn't our studies suffer if we didn't to this?" Naoki's frame trembles with silent laughter, and something soft comes over his face. Setanta is enraptured. "But we needed that. I mean, Isamu and I were happy playing around. If Chiaki wasn't around, I think we would've been doing a lot worse than we were, in school." He pauses. "Are you really interested in this kind of thing…?"

No other demon has shown interest to him like this before, the demon realises. Setanta nods enthusiastically, short black hair bobbing over his eyes. This time, _he's_ on the receiving end of one of those small, soft smiles.

"All right… So, there was this one time we all went to Shibuya, and…"

* * *

There is the crunch of fist into bone, and the demon gurgles as its blown back out of the way. Naoki's eyes are bright with battle fury, his teeth bared, and never before has he looked so much like a demon. Setanta stares at him, nearly getting hit until Naoki barks his name and he stabs his weapon through the chest of the demon diving at him.

He knows, he knows that man has died. He witnessed the expression that came over Naoki's face at that moment, saw that despair as Naoki refused to strike at Hijiri, instead stood back helplessly as the man fell down, down, down…

Now they are fighting with a savagery that Setanta has never seen from him before.

When they at last stop, Naoki is still streaked with blood and he goes to sit alone in harsh, brooding silence.

Setanta follows him.

A sharp glance back is his reward, but he isn't shooed away and instead walks close to the demi-fiend, unwinding his scarf from about his neck, and then unhooking his brown cape. He kneels next to Naoki and looks at the blood that is smeared over his skin as he sets his scarf carefully in his lap, the cape over it. He reaches out a gloved hand hesitantly to him, and waits with his fingers extended, waits for Naoki's tense posture to ease, wanting him to set his own arm in Setanta's waiting palm.

"What are you doing?" Naoki asks him quietly.

"You're covered in blood," Setanta says, swallowing in a way that's nervous and he couldn't begin to deny it. He remembers how the demi-fiend's eyes had looked in the heat of battle. "I'd hoped you'd let me wipe it from you. Ah—and there's a wound, there…"

Naoki looks at it numbly, frowns. The skin is raw and open and it looks painful, yet he seems not to register it. At last, he shakes his head and rests his elbow in Setanta's palm. Running with the permission, Setanta starts to methodically wipe the blood from his skin with the cape he removed. Soon, those markings of his are the only thing that stand out on his arm, and it's with timidity Setanta shifts to kneel before Naoki (so close their knees touch) and he starts on his other arm.

"Why do you always follow me so?" is a distant question. "You're a demon, I'd think you'd give me a berth like the rest of them."

Setanta smiles now. "Master Naoki is intriguing," he tells him. "I always wish to know more."

The demi-fiend goes quiet then, shakes his head as though the words are untrue. Setanta stills that shaking head with gloved fingers resting against Naoki's chin. He starts to wipe the blood from his face, even if it earns a series of flinches at first. Flinching because he doesn't usually let his demons get this close?

"Are you afraid?"

Naoki's eyes narrow and he looks at Setanta. His expression has hardened, and there Setanta sees what the other demons do. Fierce, powerful, a nigh-on-overwhelming presence; but Setanta has seen soft smiles so doesn't pull back as he rubs the blood from the lobe of one ear. A human ear. He's _human_, and different from them all, but Setanta has learned.

"Of you?" he asks, challengingly. As though daring Setanta to try and fight him at that very moment. Naoki's eyes don't waver. His frown remains in place and he goes on without waiting for clarification. "No. I can fight and beat any of you," he declares. Not bragging, a simple statement of fact. Setanta has no doubt he can.

"No, it's… Are you afraid of being touched? Without the intention to hurt?" Setanta asks after a moment, once the blood has been scrubbed from the side of Naoki's throat. He's amazed the demi-fiend has allowed his fingers that close to the place that seems so very vulnerable. He sees the motion of his throat as he swallows slightly, is fascinated by it.

"I'm letting you touch me, aren't I?" Naoki says, and the challenging tone is still there. He's not unlike someone backed into a corner, and his eyes flit to the side intermittently.

He's _embarrassed_, Setanta realises.

"You are. I'm grateful, master." He wipes the blood from his chest now. Naoki shifts uneasily, and his eyebrows furrow as he studies Setanta's face. Searchingly. He reaches out and marked fingers touch Setanta's chin, nearly making the demon startle.

"It's different. Without the scarf."

How long has it been since the demi-fiend touched another creature? Never mind if they're human, or demon, how long has it been since he's taken in the comfort of another warm body close to his own? Demons will seek out one another for such touches, for even animals feel that instinctive need to be close, one way or another.

"Different in a bad way?" Setanta watches Naoki's face, and is unable to make heads or tails of his expression. It's different than any he's seen before—quiet. Pensive. He shakes his head and says nothing more, instead allowing Setanta to wipe clean his chest, his stomach (under which muscles flex before tightening), and even allowing the demon to rest Naoki's legs over his thighs to wipe the accumulated dirt and blood.

When this is done to Setanta's satisfaction, he reluctantly draws his now-dirtied cape aside. He sets it to one side of him and moves a gloved hand up. It curls below the horn that projects from the back of the demi-fiend's nape. Naoki doesn't move closer when he puts pressure there, however, but that's all right.

He lets Setanta stay at his side as he rests, where he hadn't any demon before.

* * *

Naoki is fond of Futomimi. That, Setanta knows for certain. He looks at the leader of the manikins and there is respect there, a sincere kind of like, that follows even when he regards the other manikins. He simply, sincerely _likes_ them, in a way he'd never show to the demons, no, not even to Setanta.

So, when he sees their bodies strewn over their sanctuary, Setanta sees something break in him.

And it breaks further when they're fighting with desperate, mindless need—Futomimi is being hurt, and these demons are detaining them, and they must, _must_ hurry, why don't they understand?

(Futomimi has been the only one who Setanta has heard say Naoki has a human heart.)

Naoki is near vibrating with rage and for once his terror is unguarded, and Setanta sees the other demons who follow him looking amongst themselves. Their own promise and contracts (as well as the knowledge of _just how_ strong the demi-fiend) keeping them from moving by only a tenuous thread.

Setanta feels it in himself, but it is dull and muted. He has long since stuffed such instincts away. He has to wonder _why_.

The body of Futomimi is taken up in Naoki's arms without a word and he prowls off deeper into the sanctuary.

None dare to follow him—save, of course, for Setanta, a short while later. Daisoujou looks at him with as much exasperation as a skeleton's face can possibly convey and says in a brittle voice, "How long will you be the dog endlessly following? Leave him be, he doesn't wish to be disturbed at such a time."

Setanta blinks.

"I cannot."

Daisoujou doesn't understand, the demons don't understand; Setanta himself barely understands his own desires, un-demonic as they are. Everyone else around Naoki seems to have 'left him be', and Naoki is all the more alone for it. He remembers the silhouette of that back, slightly slumped, posture radiating a put-upon solidarity. He doesn't _want_ to be alone, but he is because he thinks that he has to be.

He finds Naoki crouched at where soil and mud has been overturned. Setanta has seen few graves—he recalls the stones in that strange labyrinth which Naoki sometimes visits in his hunting for information. But here, this is a grave, for a stone has been set, and a crude carving done. There is mud and dirt below Naoki's nails, his palms and forearms streaked with it. His face is turned away, and Setanta can't see his eyes.

Naoki doesn't move as Setanta comes to his side and then gathers himself to sit alongside him. Silent. He doesn't offer anything besides his presence, but somehow Naoki's hand finds its way to reach over, gripping at Setanta's knee.

"I want to kill her." It's so quiet, Setanta barely hears it. "I want to kill him."

There is no question as to whom he's talking about. Setanta looks at that ducked head, hiding Naoki's expression. He thinks of the boy with the hat, the girl in the dress—both of them irrevocably changed.

"I wish things were back to the way they were," Naoki continues, still in that same faint tone. Setanta can't make out the inflection in it, isn't sure if it is indeed numbing misery he's hearing. "I wish I hadn't survived to roam this place."

"Mas— Naoki," Setanta starts, stumbling over the word and feeling a little surge of nervousness for using it without the title, "I am glad you survived. You, surely, can do what a demon cannot. You could…do what you wished with this world. Despite what all the others have been saying, you are powerful, and—"

Naoki's head snaps around to look at him so fast Setanta wonders that it isn't painful and he finds himself cutting off. Naoki's eyes are wide. His face is streaked with tears. So Setanta smudges them away with a gloved palm.

"I will— I will help." Giving voice to the desire in him is thrilling and strange. Setanta shouldn't act like this, he isn't human, is he? No, no. But nevertheless. "Because I wish to."

Naoki cracks a watery smile and his eyes drop from Setanta's. "Is that so?"

Setanta inclines his head.

"I understand." Naoki's words come in a low sigh. "But, Setanta, stay as you are, right to the end. All right?"

"What?" Does he mean never change? Setanta looks at him, bewildered. "But I would be stronger, and then I could be sure that—"

"I'm afraid," Naoki tells him bluntly. "I'm afraid you might change too much. So, that's why…"

…oh. _Oh_.

Setanta recalls Naoki's friends, then. What little remained of their former selves, for the Vortex World had twisted them so much that even the demon wasn't sure what he was looking at. He couldn't imagine what Naoki felt. And he still couldn't see his eyes, so he couldn't quite hazard a guess. Still, something in him that wasn't quite demon warmed in a way he was unfamiliar with and he smiles at the human before him.

"Then, as you wish."

* * *

Setanta doesn't like Dante.

The man is too much of a sheer _presence_. He is there and refuses to allow himself to stand off on the sidelines, whether this be his story or not. He's powerful, as well, and upon many a time as he follows Naoki and his strange new companion out of the labyrinth, he stares at the sword or the pairs of guns and wonders if he could beat this man on his own. No, not exactly man, for there's demon in him. Any other could recognise it.

Naoki likely does, as well. Perhaps that's why he allows the man who's similar to him in ways to occasionally nudge against him, and the chatter they exchange is lighter than any Setanta's heard from Naoki in some time.

Setanta feels a little overshadowed and sullen. The feelings of a favoured pet after the owner had gotten a new one, lavishing attention upon it.

"Why is that guy still with you?" he hears Dante asking Naoki and glances up in time to see the demon slayer looking back at Setanta. Something in his stomach jumps. "You know that he isn't very strong, right? He's probably going to be more trouble than anything."

However, it seems as though there was no need to worry. For, Naoki shakes his head.

"I want him with me. He's strong enough for me," he tells Dante in return, and gets a bewildered look, then an amused smirk.

"Kid, you don't make any sense. Are you sentimental?" His large hand ruffles at Naoki's hair, and the boy makes an annoyed sound, batting at it and trying to smooth rumpled strands.

"Setanta is just important."

Setanta stares the same as Dante does, and knows that in a couple of moments, he will be smiling fit to burst. Triumphant, the demon strides up to walk alongside Naoki instead, looking down at him happily and ducking his head, a bobbing nod of gratitude for those words. Naoki turns his eyes up with a look of amusement and reaches up to pat at dark hair. Setanta is quietly thrilled.

"I don't get you," Dante sighs.

Setanta frowns in Dante's direction, makes a low sound, almost huffing. "I don't plan on leaving," he declares, "I will see Naoki's goals through until the end."

Dante blinks. Then he grins. "Oh, you've got a loyal puppy, don't you." He elbows Naoki, who growls and elbows back at him, and Setanta is struck by the not-quite-angry look on Naoki's face. He's playing? Like demons will fight or spar amongst themselves sometimes for fun, to keep themselves battle-ready. "All right, then, Setanta, right? I'm here for as long as he's hired me for. Let's get along, huh?"

"Nnn." Setanta wrinkles his nose. He doesn't particularly want to.

* * *

So many of them have died.

Not demons—for there are as many demons for as many as they kill. Humans, rather. They have left behind Naoki's teacher, his former friends and the man who engineered the happening of the Vortex World. Up ahead, Kagutsuchi is waiting for a person with a Reason. Naoki is coming to it bereft. But Setanta thinks that he knows what kind of world Naoki wants most of all.

The only humans left…are they the ones before Setanta? Even then, they aren't entirely human. Dante with his red coat and his striking demeanour, Naoki with his markings, the horn that mark him as a Fiend even if Setanta knows he isn't like them, in the end.

They are resting now, before they scale the last steps to face Kagutsuchi.

Setanta watches from afar as Dante speaks to Naoki, but receives no response from the young man. His back is turned this way, but it isn't the same back that so spoke of loneliness time and time again. His shoulders are squared, his head lifted, though he can't hear what Naoki says to the demon slayer.

Dante at last ruffles at Naoki's hair with a half-grin, then walks off, leaving him standing alone. Setanta makes his way quietly over.

Looking up, Naoki cocks his head at an angle, like a curious cat. His eyes are sharp and clear, though there's some deep darkness sitting in them. Setanta fidgets.

"I'm kind of sad," Naoki mumbles, and the words catch Setanta off guard. The demon blinks, stares at him. "…what is it?"

"No-nothing," Setanta stammers. He'd expected a reassurance of some kind, Naoki going to try and convince him he was fine when he wasn't. The walls have collapsed. What he's looking at is unguarded and sincere. They're too near the end for him to be cautious of those he fights alongside now. The demons know not what kind of world Naoki may lead them into, nor if they'll still exist when it comes into being, but they have held to their respective words or deep-seated and unspoken loyalty until now.

They will follow him, and Setanta most of all.

"Isn't it normal to be sad?" Naoki asks him, distantly, then laughs to himself. "I suppose it's hard to say what 'normal' is, isn't it?"

"I've never felt sad over someone else before," Setanta admits. Demons came and went. Fight or flee. Kill or be killed. "Save…"

"Hm?"

"Save for you. I wouldn't be happy to see something else happen to you," Setanta manages to get out, and then ducks his head, subservient. "I said before, but I wish for you to bring about whatever world it is you have in mind. And I'd like for you to find happiness there."

Silence, for a time. Setanta doesn't dare look up.

But, when he does, Naoki is smiling at him. A curious, open smile. Not beaming, nor reserved, but a simple expression of pleasure and gratitude.

"I'd like that, too." Naoki's expression smoothes into something more thoughtful, solemn. "I'd like it if we met again in that world, too. So— I'll do my best." His head turns, gazing upward, to where they would finally meet Kagutsuchi. Then his eyes fall, to first Setanta, then the demons grouped further back. His lips press together and he moves, brushing past Setanta toward them.

"Come on."

Setanta jerks as though tugged by an invisible cord, hastens to obey as Naoki leads him toward where the other demons and Dante sit, waiting, making room for them to sit among them.

* * *

The somnolent sounds of cicadas fill the air, the drone of summer. Months have passed now. The sun overhead is warm and Naoki tilts his head back, closing his eyes. He sits on the edge of the low patio, his legs hanging over the edge, t-shirt clinging to skin made clammy and slightly damp in the heat of summer. Inside, he can hear the clinks of cups.

It's far too warm for tea today.

He's at the old man's place. He doesn't remember having met the old man before, before the Vortex World. The old man is thin enough to be skeletal and has an expansive rock collection and a brittle way of speaking. He wears beads, and keeps a cracked bell in his living room. He often invites Naoki over for tea as though they're old friends, and Naoki repays him in kind by doing monotonous chores or else bringing dinners.

He is one of those strangers who Naoki both knows and doesn't know. Those oddly familiar faces, or else oddly familiar creatures.

The new classmate at school with long, bleach-blond hair, uniform dyed purple and a way of looking at him that's appraising. The same classmate who hangs out at the café he likes and always baits him by asking him if he wants milk when he comes in, while he's there sipping a coffee. There's a strange librarian who seems to know him at sight, knows what books he likes; she wears an oversized hat and has dark, dark eyes. There's a rainbow-coloured snake in his room where he was certain he never had a pet before, and a long-necked dog who hangs around his apartment, all white with a black face.

All so familiar. He knows, deep down, whom they really are. And he wonders what lies beyond the haze of Tokyo. What further world is out there, are there demons-turned-human in every corner.

Isamu and Chiaki have forgotten. Naoki can't remember if he wanted it that way, or maybe they're pretending they've forgotten. In the end, it doesn't matter too much. Days pass by in idyllic contentment, but he never forgets anything that happened in the Vortex World. No. He dreams of it again and again, every night.

Every night, he remembers—

"Aaa," sighs a voice, suddenly, and Naoki's eyes open. Another boy has invited himself to sit on the porch alongside him. His hair is dark, styled in a way that's vaguely reminiscent of a bowlcut. A scarf is draped around his neck despite the heat, though his t-shirt is white, jeans blue but fading to the same colour. "It's so hoooot. He isn't bringing _hot _tea, is he…? Iced tea would be better."

"You should stop showing up unannounced. He's going to get mad," Naoki tells him, one eyebrow lifting.

"It'll be fine," is the insistent reply, complete with a bright smile. "He likes me."

"Hmmm," dubiously. Naoki tilts his head back, closing his eyes once more. He hears the bugs, the sound of faint grumblings from inside—the old man has heard them talking. He's grudgingly getting another cup out. Naoki smiles to himself.

A shoulder presses against his as his companion scoots closer. Naoki allows it, and even allows his head to drop to one side to rest against the curve of a neck where it meets shoulder. He can feel the other boy swallow and doesn't laugh despite an urge to.

The cicadas buzz, and the day carries on…


End file.
